


Sunflowers

by moonside



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blowjobs, College AU, Coming of Age, Face-Sitting, Grief, Heavy topics, Loss, M/M, Minor Character Death, Porn With Plot, Potentially problematic relationships, Promptis - Freeform, Slice of Life, Teacher/Student Dynamics, Vignette, Younger!Prompto, age gap, discussion of terminal illness, grinding/frottage, older!noctis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 01:19:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11612955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonside/pseuds/moonside
Summary: Prompto picks Noctis Caelum's introductory economics course because the professor's hot. Can't judge him for that.He didn't expect to fall in love.





	Sunflowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Numinoceur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Numinoceur/gifts).



> first, i'm sorry this is an 18k word one-shot, there was no good place to split it so... kudos if you actually read this?
> 
> second, i was asked to add additional warnings that this discusses heavy topics and deals w/ grief/loss towards the end. it's hard for me to accurately tag this fic, but it does get a bit heavy. so if you're looking for something that's entirely lighthearted or feel like topics involving loss may trigger you, please avoid. thank you!

In all honesty, Prompto doesn’t really want to go to college. It’s just something that you do, and his dad never went. His dad went off and joined the military fresh out of high school, as he reminds Prompto nearly every day, and _his_ son is going to go to college.

 

So, Prompto obsesses over it for the entire summer before school starts. He meticulously plans his schedule. He tries very hard to make it look like he has his shit together. Or, ya know, a life plan. Really, his plans entail _surviving the first semester._ He doesn’t need to pick a major, right?!

 

He’s apparently got to take an Economics class. Prompto isn’t really sure why, but he doesn’t question it. He browses Rate My Professor, one fateful late June night. There’s a couple of time slots, none of them particularly appealing, since most of them are three hour classes. One professor, at least, has pretty decent ratings, so Prompto clicks, even though the subject, _environmental economics,_ sounds like easily the most boring of all the incredibly boring economics options.

 

_‘Class is so freakin boring, but easy to pass if you go every week. Trust me, you’ll want to, prof is hot af’_

_‘I learned nothing and had to retake it but another semester to stare at Prof Caelum? Not complaining lol’_

_‘Prof made a boring subject interesting… I mean he talked in a monotone the whole time but man is gorgeous.’_

_‘I don’t think Professor Caelum even likes teaching but he’s so nice to look at it doesn’t matter’_

_‘Hottest econ prof EVER!!!’_

Okay, so Prompto is absolutely not above basing his decision on which timeslot to pick based on the hotness of the professor. Screw it. That makes the decision for him, and he clicks the ‘register’ button for N. Caelum’s introductory environmental economics class.

 

\---

 

Prompto’s first day of college literally entails every single ‘first day’ nightmare. He oversleeps, even though he _never_ oversleeps. A freak storm rolls in as he’s running to campus, his backpack hanging off one shoulder, sweater open. He didn’t have time for makeup or styling his hair. He didn’t even have time for breakfast. He makes it to campus with about ten minutes to spare, miraculously, and then he remembers that he left his class schedule at home, the one that has class locations listed. He has absolutely _no_ idea where he’s going. And, because it’s the first day of class, and everyone is in Prompto’s precise situation, the college site isn’t loading properly so he can pull that information up on his phone.

 

Prompto’s frantically running down a hallway, trying not to slip on wet boots that are squeaking across the floor. He’s absolutely going to miss his first class, and he’s about ten seconds away from a total, utter meltdown.

 

So, naturally, he runs headfirst into someone bustling in the opposite direction, because that’s just his shit luck, and everything that could go wrong today is indeed going wrong. Papers go flying everywhere, Prompto drops his backpack, and he falls flat back on his ass. Great. Awesome.

 

“Oh my god, I’m _so sorry,_ ” he’s gasping out as he pulls himself to his feet, bending to attempt to pick up some of the scattered papers the other man’s dropped. It’s only when Prompto straightens, feebly offering up the crinkled papers he’s fished up off the floor, that he gets a good look at the man he’s run headlong into.

 

He looks _good,_ gorgeous even, and Prompto’s suddenly intimately aware of just how wet and disheveled he is. Not that it matters, cuz the guy is clearly older than him. He’s got dark hair, long in the back, bangs falling over his eyes. He’s got a scruff of a beard, the sad product of someone who can’t really grow one, but doesn’t care enough to shave – and somehow, it works. And it’s his eyes, kind and deep blue, that strike Prompto the most. He realizes he’s flushing, eyes darting down to the floor, to stare at the other man’s shoes.

 

“You seem like you’re in a hurry,” the man says, carefully shifting the papers out of Prompto’s arms and tucking them back into the folder he’s carrying. “Lost, are we?”

 

“Is it _that_ obvious?” Prompto groans. His eyes dart upward, and he’s expecting the man to be mocking him, but he somehow blushes even deeper when he sees something resembling concern, _kindness._

 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” the man responds, with a smile that extends all the ways to his eyes. “What class are you trying to find?”

 

Prompto frowns. “Uh. Intro economics. With uh… Caelum?” he thinks. He’s not sure. He left his schedule at home. He probably sounds like a total fucking idiot, because he doesn’t even know for sure what class he’s supposed to be going to.  

 

The man smiles again, though, blessedly overlooking Prompto’s ignorance. “You’re in luck. Just so happens that’s my class. You’re in the wrong building, I was just heading over from my office. You can walk with me, if you want.”

 

“Uh. Right. S-sorry again, for running into you, uh… _sir?”_ Prompto flushes, because obviously the guy’s a professor. He doesn’t quite _have_ the college professor feel, though. He’s obviously older than Prompto, but still looks young, and he’s relatively dressed down, casual looking, maybe a little bit flustered under the kind exterior.

 

And, goddamnit, those reviews were _right._ He’s fucking gorgeous.

 

“Just Noctis is fine,” the man says with a shrug. “Formalities have never been my thing.” He opens the door for Prompto, and the rain has finally died down to a gentle drizzle, thank god. Prompto blushes. A hottie and a gentleman. Too bad it’s his professor.

 

“Right,” Prompto says. They make their way across the campus quad in relative silence. When they make it to the lecture hall, Prompto slides into a seat in the front row, and he leans forward a little as Professor Caelum – Noctis – starts to set up.

 

“Thanks, by the way,” he says, with a flush. Noctis lifts his head, and their eyes meet, the gaze lingering for just a _little_ too long, before Prompto quickly looks away, making a point of digging through his bag for his textbook and a fresh, empty notebook.

 

“No need to thank me, Mr, ah…?”

 

“Er, I’m Prompto. Prompto Argentum, si—uh, _Noctis,_ ” Prompto flushes. Smooth. So very, horribly, absolutely _not_ smooth.

 

“Prompto, then.”

 

Prompto likes the way his name sounds, coming from that damn hot professor’s lips, way too much. This is not good. He absolutely has a crush on his hot instructor. It means it’s going to be a very interesting semester, at least.

 

\---

 

In reality, the reviews that Prompto read over the summer weren’t lying. The class is boring. Noctis Caelum isn’t a bad instructor, but the subject is _dry._ It’s a lot of calculations, with graphs and supply-demand curves and adjustments for market failures and externalities and a bunch of stuff Prompto doesn’t really understand.

 

But goddamn, the way he _talks,_ he could be saying anything and it would sound good. All of Prompto’s other professors are older, but Noctis is really goddamn hot. He’s always dressed casually, in soft, well-worn t-shirts and jeans. One day, he shows up to class in a nicely tailored suit, pin-striped, with a fine, silky looking black shirt underneath, and Prompto’s pretty sure that he spends the entire class staring at Noctis’s ass every time he turns around to draw a graph on the whiteboard. Oops.

 

Prompto has a dream one night, about a month into the semester, and it involves the scruff of his professor’s beard on his inner thighs as he devours his cock. He wakes up with one hell of a hard-on. He’s only mildly ashamed when he works one off in the shower.

 

That week, on impulse, he stops and grabs an extra coffee at the shop on the way to campus. He picks up a chocolate chip muffin, too, because he saw Noctis nibbling on the corner of a pastry at the start of last week’s class.

 

“I uh, didn’t know how you take your coffee,” he offers up with a flushed smile as approaches Noctis at the front of the classroom before it starts. There’s only a few other students already arrived – the rest will filter in, slowly, in the minutes before class is scheduled to commence.

 

Their fingers graze when Noctis reaches out and takes the coffee. The cup is warm, and Prompto’s pretty sure his cheeks are even warmer. He thinks his fingers are probably trembling too, as he hands over the bag with the pastry (and some extra creamers and sugar packets, just in case) as well.

 

“Thanks,” he says, quietly, offering Prompto another one of those kind looks, his lips quirked into a little smile. “… I don’t do well with mornings, in case you couldn’t tell.”

 

“You do look tired,” Prompto admits, and then he flushes even brighter, “uh – not to say that you look _bad,_ I just mean—“

 

“Prompto,” Noctis laughs, “it’s fine. I’m well aware of the reputation I have on campus.”

 

Prompto shuts his mouth before a squeaking noise can come out. Is his professor _flirting_ with him?! He has no idea. It’s definitely his imagination, his hormones going wild, a whole lot of seeing something out of nothing. “Well, uh! Enjoy the coffee.”

 

It’s totally, definitely, absolutely his imagination when Prompto catches Noctis sneaking glances at him during the middle of his lecture. What else could it possibly be?

 

\---

 

Prompto hopes his stupid, childish crush isn’t getting the better of him as he approaches Noctis Caelum’s office. He’s doing surprisingly well in class, though to be fair, it’s probably just because he clings to every single one of the man’s words, as dry and dull as the subject matter is. He managed an A on the last test though – which is a shock, since he barely scraped by with a C in his math class. And economics, really, is just a super shitty form of math.

 

Still, he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. But Noctis has made a point of letting his students know that his office is always open to questions, and he _must_ schedule office hours for a reason…

 

Prompto musters up his courage, and he raps gently on the door.

 

“It’s open,” Noct’s voice says. _Deep breaths,_ Prompto tells himself, and he steps inside, nudging the door shut behind him.

 

Prompto doesn’t want to admit that he actually bothered to make himself look good, just to stop in to visit a teacher. He had, in reality, meticulously obsessed over his reflection in the bathroom mirror that morning, fixing his makeup and adjusting his hair and picking out a casual, but not too-casual, but also stylish, outfit to wear. He doesn’t even have any other classes today, either. He’s here _solely_ for Noctis.

 

Noctis, of course, looks good. He’s wearing a pair of reading glasses, and it makes Prompto flush, because he hadn’t even realized the guy wore glasses. His hair’s a mess, like he’s been running his fingers through it a little too much. There’s a couple of cans of an energy drink stacked in the corner of his desk. Noctis looks like he’s been typing away on his laptop, but he sits back, stretching a little as Prompto comes in.

 

“You’ve never been to my office before,” Noctis says, pointing out the obvious, as Prompto sits down.

 

“Didn’t really have a reason to,” Prompto replies, and he’s pretty sure his cheeks are already heating up. Why is he making an awkward mess out of every single one of their encounters?!

 

“True,” Noctis replies. He shuts the top of his laptop, and leans forward a little, elbows resting on the edge of the desk. He looks good today. Noctis always looks good, but today especially. He’s got a v-neck t-shirt that shows off his collarbone, and Prompto licks his lips. He’s hot for his teacher. Really hot for him. He wants to get his lips _everywhere._

 

“You got an A on that last test,” Noctis adds, as if Prompto doesn’t already know that.

 

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees, and he has to look away. He stares down at his lap. “Uh. I’m actually here for a _personal_ thing, if that’s okay. It’s just… you’re the most relatable of all my professors. The youngest, and you seem to actually _care,_ and I’m kinda… feling lost. Struggling. No idea what I’m here for, or where I’m going…”

 

There’s a moment’s silence, one where Prompto contemplates just sliding out of the chair and hiding under Noctis’s desk. Maybe sinking into the floor, where he can die happily and fade away into nothing. He’s stupid. He turns twenty later this month, and he’s a dumb kid, one who knows absolutely nothing, who is pouring his heart out to his hot, older professor, a man who clearly has his life together.

 

“I’d be happy to help,” Noctis says though the words cutting through all of Prompto’s fears and insecurities. “Did you want help with your class schedule? Let me see what you’ve got for the rest of the year… I can offer some good electives, at least, ones that will let you broaden your horizons some, figure out what you’re interested in…”

 

Prompto flushes. “Oh. Uh, yeah, I have my timetable on my tablet, let me pull it out…”

 

True hell is the way that that their hands brush. Absolute hell is when Noctis gets up out of his desk, and he moves to lean over the back of Prompto’s chair. Noctis’s hand is warm on Prompto’s shoulder as he leans in to point at a few classes on the course catalogue they’ve brought up. There’s a horrible moment when Prompto realizes that if he tips his head and scoots up in the chair, he could brush their lips together. He knows absolutely _nothing_ about Noctis Caelum, but he knows there’s no ring on his finger, and that he’s very possibly the most goddamn attractive person in existence.

 

Of course, Prompto doesn’t make a move, because that would be weird.

 

“Thanks,” he says, when he realizes it’s been a full fucking _hour._ “I’m… not good with this college thing. I’m mostly going because it means a lot to my dad. I want to do well, but…”

 

Noctis shakes his head. That smile he has is always just so gentle, so put together. “You know, I’m a terrible professor. My classes always fill up because I’m young and relatable and I look nice. So… I’m just glad I can help. If it makes your choices a little easier, it helps me forget all my other faults.”

 

“You’re not a bad professor,” Prompto says, instantly, “I mean. You teach a pretty terrible subject, no offense, but… you’re not bad. I have worse.”

 

Noctis laughs though, he genuinely _laughs,_ and Prompto falls in love with the sound of it, just a little. “You don’t have to bullshit me, Prompto. You’re doing well enough in the class, you don’t have to suck up.”

 

Prompto smiles. The mood between them is easy. It’s way too easy. The gentle way Noctis touched him, innocent, but supercharged with a quiet energy, the smiles, the laughter, the gentle banter. Fuck, Prompto knows better, and he knows the answer he’ll get before he even asks it, but he feels brave, and he goes for it. “Hey. Uh. Think maybe we could get coffee sometime? Out of class hours, I mean.”

 

For a moment, Prompto thinks that maybe Noctis will actually accept. His smile falters. Their eyes meet, and it’s like the world fades away, just for a second.

 

“That probably isn’t appropriate, Prompto,” Noctis replies, gently, though he lowers his gaze and won’t quite meet his eye.

 

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Prompto insists, even though he did, and they both know it. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have, anyway. Is it okay though… if I come back? To talk about this stuff?”

 

“Of course,” Noctis says. It’s a little too eager, and probably inappropriate, and they both know it. It doesn’t mean Prompto’s going to stop visiting though. He’s starting to live for that three hour block where Noctis Caelum rants his ear off in a monotone about common goods versus public goods or whatever dull topic of the week is on the day’s agenda. Prompto’s crush is getting totally out of control.

 

\---

 

It’s fate that ends up scoring him that coffee date, too.

 

It’s a week before Prompto’s birthday. So maybe it’s the gods giving him an early gift, a happy little welcome into his twenties. Whatever it is, Prompto’s out walking his dog. His dad works a lot, and lives on the other side of town, so he’s helping Prompto pay for a little flat near campus. It’s just Prompto and his little dog Bean, and so they’re enjoying the autumn weather. They’ve got a routine. There’s a coffee shop near the park that is dog friendly, and they always give Prompto a discount on his drink, and a handful of biscuits to feed to his dog.  Prompto will sip his latte and they’ll hang out at the park, run around and throw a ball around.

 

Today, when Prompto wanders into the coffee shop, his hot professor just happens to be in line ahead of him.

 

“You have a dog,” Noctis points out, as he notices Prompto.

 

“Mhmm,” Prompto replies, and his stomach is doing little flips because that’s just what happens when he runs into Noctis Caelum. “His name is Bean.”

 

Noctis makes a _sound,_ and he groans. “That’s a horrible name for a dog. Who names a dog that?”

 

“I do,” Prompto grumbles, “it’s a perfectly good name. You have something against beans?”

 

“Actually, I do,” Noctis rubs at the back of his head. “Beans are gross. The world would be a better place without them.” He’s wearing those damn glasses again today. His hair’s tied back in a little ponytail. His scruff is a little more unruly than usual. He’s wearing a sports jacket and some tight jeans. Prompto gets a _really_ nice view of Noctis’s ass, too, as he crouches down and extends a hand to the dog in question.

 

“Bean is offended,” Prompto replies with a roll of his wandering eyes, even though his dog, the perfect example of an attention whore, eagerly licks Noctis’s extended fingers and wags his stumpy little tail.

 

“I guess he is pretty bean-shaped, huh?” Noctis laughs, patting the dog on the head, and straightening.

 

Prompto grins. He knows his dog is damn cute. He’s a corgi, a little runty, but with wide, soft brown eyes and giant fluffy ears, tiny little white legs, reddish fur and a stubby tail wagging a mile a minute.

 

“Told ya it’s a perfect name,” Prompto says with a laugh. He rubs the back of his head, and they fall silent as Noctis orders his coffee.

 

“What do you want?” Noctis says, tipping his head back to catch Prompto’s eye. “My treat.”  


Prompto flushes bright, but he stutters out his usual order (a maple latte, nonfat) and he’s grateful yet again for his trusty dog companion, because Bean expertly lifts up onto his hind two legs and begs for the treats that the employee knows to offer him.

 

“I’m taking Bean to the park,” Prompto says, in a very pathetic attempt at sounding casual, as they wait for their drinks. “If you wanted to come with us. It’s not… anything weird, I promise. He likes you. And it’s a nice day.”

 

Noctis gives him a look that’s so similar to that one they’d exchanged in his office. Prompto’s jaw sets, and he prepares himself for the inevitable rejection that’s to follow.

 

“I was heading that way anyway,” Noctis says, instead. “Just… don’t get the wrong idea, Prompto.”

 

“Of course,” Prompto says, too eagerly. He burns his tongue on his latte when they call his name. He knows not to get the wrong idea, but it doesn’t mean the wrong idea isn’t already firmly embedded into his mind.

 

They end up sitting on a park bench. Prompto lets Bean off his leash, and tosses a worn tennis ball across the expanse of field. The grass is already mostly dead from the first early frost of the year. The dog occasionally gets bored, and after sniffing around the edge of the little pond nearby, he settles down at Prompto’s feet, panting heavily and nosing into the half-frozen ground.

 

Noctis is keeping his distance, but Prompto finds it hard to care. He’s captivated. Noctis slowly works on his latte, even though Prompto’s long finished his. He has one leg crossed over the other, his free arm thrown across the back of the bench. It would be easy, Prompto thinks, to lean back against that strong, warm arm. He doesn’t though.

 

They don’t talk about much. It’s all idle chatter. Noctis just turned thirty, Prompto learns. He’s been wondering about the age difference for a while now – and ten years, he thinks, is doable. Goddamnit, he’s justifying things in his mind already, despite the fact that Noctis isn’t showing _any_ interest at all. He got his master’s in economics, and he’s working on his PHD. He got the job as a temporary gig, and he did well enough – and there’s a shortage in the business math department – so he’s been offered the position permanently, on the condition that he works on his dissertation. Prompto thinks it’s a lot.

 

He hates that it reminds him that he’s on an entirely different level.

 

“I wish I knew what to say,” Prompto says with a flush, his hands clasped in his lap, as he stares straight ahead. He wants to look at Noctis, but it’s too much. It’s so much. “I… I guess I feel confused. Sometimes, I think that maybe you _get_ me, but then you talk about this stuff, and I realize I’m just a kid. You’ve got it all figured out, Noctis, and here I am, wondering what the hell I want to do next week, let alone in four years…”

 

Noctis doesn’t say anything for a moment. He makes a quiet sound, though, and slowly, it’s Noctis to lean in. His hand lifts from the back of the bench, and he brushes his knuckles, ever so briefly, over the back of Prompto’s cheek, before quickly withdrawing, straightening, as if he’s thought better of it.

 

“You’re young,” Noctis says. Prompto wonders if the words are a reassurance, or a reminder. Both, maybe. “Everything was confusing for me when I was that age, you know… it just takes time. You’ll come to terms with who you are. Maybe you’ll even find peace.”

 

Prompto thinks maybe he should ask Noctis to elaborate. But just as suddenly as this had begun, Noctis is standing up, stretching his arms over his head, his back cracking with an audible popping sound. He leans down to pet Bean on the head, rubbing the dog’s big, oversized ears.

 

“I’ll see you in class next week?” Noctis says to Prompto, though their eyes don’t meet, pointedly.

 

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees.

 

He has a dream, that night. It’s not one of the usual sex dreams, driven by hormones and the fact that Noctis is the most goddamn gorgeous guy he’s ever met. This one is far more dangerous, because it’s simply a dream of curling up in bed next to Noctis, his head pillowed on the other man’s chest, Bean sleeping at the foot of the bed near them. It’s a good dream, and Prompto wakes up feeling empty and full of longing.

 

\---

 

One day, Noctis gives a lecture about a concept known as ‘tragedy of the commons.’

 

He enters the classroom grinning like a fucking madman, and it takes Prompto by surprise. Noctis isn’t the most enthusiastic of lecturers, under normal circumstances. He’s knowledgeable and down to earth, but he’s just not a social guy, and he kinda sucks at public speaking. Today, though, is all different.

 

“We’re talking about what happens when people act in their own self-interests, instead of the collective interests of others,” Noctis starts saying. It all sounds tedious and boring, but Prompto’s eating it up. The class seems attentive, too, because Noctis Caelum speaking in an engaging matter, all smiles, is both unusual and endearing. Goddamnit, he really is too gorgeous. It’s unreal.

 

“So, to demonstrate,” Noctis continues, “we’re going fishing!”

 

It’s a surprisingly engaging class, with a game revolving around sharing candy fish in a way that is supposed to be equal opportunity for everyone, but by the time the bucket reaches the back of the classroom, the people in the front already took all the treats. Prompto understands the theory of it, but the math behind it is stupid. Noctis, for some reason, seems to really enjoy talking about fishing and oceans and the theory behind it.

 

He's a weird guy, Prompto decides. Somehow, that makes Noctis even more human. It makes him like him even more, if that’s even possible.

 

Prompto decides to hang around after class.

 

“You fish?” he asks Noctis casually, after the last of the students filter out of the lecture hall.

 

Noctis laughs, and he scratches at the back of his head. He’s cleanly shaven, for once, and Prompto decides that he prefers him with the scruff. He’s still unfairly attractive though. Prompto wants to drag his lips along the edge of Noctis’s jaw.

 

“That obvious, is it?” Noctis replies.

 

“Yeah,” Prompto grins, “my dad’s big on fishing, too. We used to go a lot when I was younger, when we got the chance. Was never my thing, but… good memories.”

 

“My dad and I used to go, too,” Noctis says, though his voice softens a little, from nostalgia, maybe something else. “Now it’s just me, these days.”

 

Prompto wonders if he should ask. Or if he should offer up an apology. He feels like a little kid again, because he doesn’t know _what_ to say. “If you’re ever looking for someone to go with,” he finds himself saying, suddenly, in a rush, cheeks red, “Bean and I. We’d always be up for it.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Noctis replies, and Prompto knows, by the way he says it, that it’s an invitation that he’ll never receive. He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting, or why he keeps trying. Prompto, after all, is just a kid.

 

\---

 

Shortly after his twentieth birthday, Prompto decides to pierce his ears.

 

He’s always liked piercings. There’s something about them that screams rebellion, individuality, maturity. Realistically, he knows it’s just a vague aesthetic choice, and that it doesn’t grant him anything. He’s also shitty with needles.

 

But as Prompto stares at himself in the mirror, at the line of rings up the shell of his ear, the cartilage tender and swollen, his lobe puffy as it proudly displays a thick black stud, he decides he likes it. It suits him. It makes him feel a little bit more like a grown up.

 

When he goes to class that week, Noctis stares, and that makes him feel so much better. Their eyes meet, properly, for the first time in ages. This time, Noctis is the one to blush and look away, and Prompto feels triumphant.

 

\---

 

Prompto starts visiting Noctis’s office again. Every week, during office hours. Sometimes it’s for academic advice. He’s pretty sure he’s going to fail his math class, and even though it’s not Noctis’s job at all, he helps him work through problem after problem, in an attempt at salvaging his poor grades with a decent final exam score.

 

One day, Noctis starts talking.

 

“Sorry,” he says, after he gets snappy with Prompto over a math problem, “it’s not you. It’s me.”

 

“That’s the most overused statement in the book, Noctis,” Prompto shoots back, with a knowing glare and a roll of his eyes, even though he has to admit, the sharp attitude hurts more than it should.

 

Noctis leans back in his chair. He’s wearing long sleeves today, and they’re rolled up past the elbow. It’s a tantalizingly good look for him. “… I visited my dad’s grave yesterday,” Noctis admits, quietly, after a long silence. “I know. It’s a lot of stuff you don’t need to hear. It’s just… he wasn’t that old. He died a few years ago. It’s hard sometimes, still.”

 

Prompto looks down at his lap. He fidgets. He doesn’t know what to say, because he’s close with his dad. Even if he’s moved out, he visits every week. He and his dad text all the time. They talk on the phone almost every day. He can’t fathom not having his father in his life, and the thought of it all is hitting way too close to home, way too suddenly.

 

“I… I’m really sorry, Noct,” he says quietly. He hasn’t even realized he’s called him _Noct,_ suddenly pushing into nickname territory, a place that Prompto certainly hasn’t really earned.

 

Noctis catches his eye, and Prompto’s breath is drawn away by the look there. He’s seeing _something._ What he’s seeing, Prompto doesn’t quite understand, but it’s not his imagination. They’ve got a connection, something tangible, something past the sadness and the sorrow, and –

 

“I want him to be proud of me,” Noctis says quietly. “I… he was a good man. I want to be a good man, like he was. That’s why… y’know,” he trails off for a moment, and sighs, a hand pressed over his face. “Let’s finish your homework. Then you should go.”

 

Prompto shudders and holds back a sigh. He should go.

 

Noctis is going to fight this, whatever it is, to the death. Prompto should give up. He won’t, but he doesn’t know why he keeps visiting Noctis’s office hours and torturing himself. It’s dumb.

 

\---

 

They run into each other in the coffee shop again.

 

Bean remembers Noctis. He’s a very smart dog. He approaches and presses his wet nose right into Noctis’s pant leg.

 

“Hello there, dog-with-the-awful-name,” Noctis says with a smile. He looks tired. Exhausted, even. Winter is finally properly upon them. It snowed last night, and it’s promising to be a long, cold winter. They’re about to head into final exams, too.

 

Prompto doesn’t want to think about it, because he doesn’t have Noctis next semester. He hasn’t quite decided what he’s going to do, being away from him. He hasn’t dared to ask Noctis if he can still visit during his office hours. He doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer.

 

“Bean is offended,” Prompto laughs. He’s ahead in the line this time, and he pays for Noctis’s latte, waving him off when his professor tries to take the tab.

 

“You ready for exams?” Noctis asks as they walk down the icy, snow-covered paths in the park. Noctis had insisted he didn’t have time to stay and talk, but somehow, they ended up here anyway. Prompto wants to think that this is something, even if it can’t be. He’s twenty. He’s almost an adult, right?

 

He’s not, and they both know it, but Noctis is humouring him.

 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Prompto admits. Bean is trotting ahead, leaving tiny little paw prints in the snow. He’s having difficulty wandering off the path, because his legs are too short to properly wade through the snow, so he has to hop in short little bounds, like a rabbit.

 

“You can still come talk to me, when you need it,” Noctis says slowly, carefully. “I mean, you won’t be my student anymore, but… I’m invested in your future. I want to see you succeed.”

 

Prompto frowns. He bites his lip. His cheeks are bright red in the cold, early winter air, and he’s sure his freckles stand out proud. “Be careful, Noctis. Don’t invite something you don’t want, y’know?”

 

“I know,” Noctis sighs.

 

They aren’t going to talk about it, and maybe they should. Or maybe there’s nothing to talk about. Either way, the silence they fall into is far too comfortable, given the circumstances.

 

\---

 

After exams, Noctis finally slips. Prompto’s been waiting, slowly, biding his time and praying to whatever gods are out there and listening, and it pays off.

 

He stops by Noctis’s office after the exam period ends. He doesn’t know why he does it, either. Prompto’s last exam is an evening one, for the dreaded math class, and he thinks he might actually pull off a passing grade, with a bit of luck. It’s past nine o’clock when the exam period ends, and Prompto, on a whim, swings by Noctis’s office.

 

The door is cracked and the light is on, when he peeks in. Noctis is hard at work, manually grading a stack of essays for one of his classes.

 

“Hey,” Prompto says, quiet. Noctis looks up. Their eyes meet, in the dim light, and there’s a smile that has Prompto’s heart leaping in his chest, his breath quickening. It’s a smile so similar to the first one Noctis ever gave him, that fated day months back, one that’s reflected in his eyes.

 

“You survived the semester,” Noctis says in response, setting his pen down, adjusting his glasses. He looks more exhausted than usual. The beard is back. His hair is a mess, falling across his forehead. Prompto thinks he could stare at Noctis forever and die happy. He doesn’t want to stop seeing him.

 

“Haven’t survived yet. Will once I get my grades,” Prompto points out. “Can I sit?”

 

Noctis nods his silent permission. Prompto crosses the room and sits down, and he winces as his pants ride up his hips as he does. He’s gotten another piercing, this one more daring, more exploratory, a line of studs that weave over the skin of his hips. It’s a more experimental thing, and the piercer seemed skeptical, didn’t think the surface piercing would stick, but, hey, Prompto’s willing to risk it.

 

“How’s the grading going?” Prompto asks, cutting through the silence.

 

“Most of these papers suck,” Noctis replies, blunt, but he offers a weary smile. “It’s… tedious. I’m almost done for the night.”

 

“Yeah,” Prompto says. He licks his lips. There’s a tension between them. He’s feeling nervous, restless. One hand lifts, and he plays with an earring. He shifts in his seat again, ignoring another little jolt of pain over sensitive, swollen skin. He keeps sneaking looks at Noctis. Noctis keeps looking back, and every time their eyes meet, there’s more of that something in the air.

 

“I’m going to regret this,” Noctis says, finally, after a few moments of silence. “But. You want to come back to my place for a few drinks?”

 

Prompto’s eyes widen. His heart is thumping in his chest suddenly. He knows, very well, that he should say no. But it’s the end of the semester. He’s not technically going to be a student of Noctis’s anymore. He’s already written his final, his grade shows unofficially in his transcript, and it’s over and done with. It’s not so bad, right?

 

“Yeah,” he says. He’d already fed Bean an early supper before he went to his exam. He doesn’t have anywhere to be. Yeah, this is what Prompto wants.

 

“Okay,” Noctis says with a nod. Then, “you’re old enough to drink, right?”

 

“Obviously,” Prompto shoots back, ignoring the fact that he is, but _barely._

 

\---

 

Noctis’s place is somehow both simultaneously nothing and exactly the way Prompt expects it to be. It’s cluttered, in a bit of a state of mess. There’s a couple of days’ worth of dishes in the sink. It smells like old books and the faintest hints of cologne. Noctis scoops some textbooks off the couch and coffee table and dumps them in front of a bookshelf that’s stuffed with academic texts.

 

A cat weaves in between Prompto’s legs as he sits down.

 

“Didn’t know you have a cat,” he says over his shoulder to Noctis, offering his hand to the cat. She’s a tabby, with two different coloured eyes, and she tentatively nudges her face into his knuckles, rubbing there.

 

“Mmm, that’s Cary,” Noctis replies. He’s in the kitchen, rummaging for some clean glasses.

 

“And you made fun of Bean’s name,” Prompto points out with a little pout.

 

“Because Bean is a dumb name,” Noctis laughs. Prompto turns his attention to the man behind him. Noctis’s t-shirt is hiked up just a little, the small of his back revealed, and it suddenly makes Prompto feel very warm. His lips are dry, and he licks them, forcing himself to turn his attention back away again.

 

“What do you drink?” Noctis asks.

 

Prompto doesn’t really drink. He wings it. “Uh, rum and coke?”

 

He lets his attention drift back over Noctis’s apartment. There’s a good deal of fishing paraphernalia. A couple of trophies on shelves, photos lining the walls. He’s got a surprisingly large collection of video games and comics lining the shelf by the television. Prompto keeps going back to the photos, though. There’s several of Noctis and two other guys. There’s a few of him with an older man – Noct’s father, he presumes – and there’s even more with a woman, slender and blonde.

 

Noctis sits down next to Prompto, the well-worn couch creaking under the additional weight. He hands over a glass, fizzy with soda and ice, to Prompto. His own is a half-full glass of straight alcohol, and Prompto’s nose wrinkles at the thought of it.

 

“Cheers,” Noctis says, somewhat solemnly, “to finishing the semester.”

 

“My first semester,” Prompto agrees, and he totally notices when Noctis hesitates, just for a moment, at that. Still, their glasses clink, and Prompto downs a gulp of his drink, while Noctis sips on his own. It’s good rum, whatever it is, smooth, and it barely tastes like alcohol.

 

Noctis idly turns the television on, and Prompto finishes his drink, chattering aimlessly about life, about the semester, about _everything_ he can think of. He’s not much of a drinker, and he’s working on his second drink when it really _hits_ him, and everything turns light and bubbly and happy.

 

“Noctis,” Prompto says, suddenly. He’s half-sprawled across Noctis’s couch, a little boneless, very relaxed, mind blurred around the edges from the alcohol. His tolerance is bad. He hadn’t eaten much today, stress from the exams, and he’s not exactly the biggest guy to begin with.

 

Noctis tips his head. “I’m cutting you off,” he says with a frown, eyeing Prompto’s half-empty drink. “What’s up?”

 

Prompto’s vaguely aware that he should use some tact. That he shouldn’t just blurt out his feelings. But it’s been a long, _long,_ four months of being a student in Noctis Caelum’s class. He’s drunk and tired, and he feels immortal in the way that only someone who just turned twenty can.

 

“If I was older,” he says, in a rush, “would you have fucked me already? Cuz, I mean, I’ve been trying pretty damn hard this _whole_ time to flirt with you. And instead we’ve got…” Prompto frowns, waving a hand carelessly in front of him, gesturing at nothing in particular, “we’ve got _this._ ”

 

Noctis sighs. He leans in to put his glass down on the coffee table. Then he thinks better of it, tips the glass back, and downs the rest of his whiskey in one brisk gulp. Shuddering, the empty glass goes on the table, and Noctis twists around to look at him.

 

Goddamnit, their eyes meet, and Prompto can’t feel embarrassed for blurting it out. He can’t be upset about making an ass of himself here.

 

“Prompto,” Noctis says slowly, “… I know you’re going to hate me telling you that you’re _young,_ but you… ten years is a lot.” He sighs, and he breaks the eye contact, pressing a hand into his face and taking a deep, slow breath. “I was… I was a different person when I was twenty. I was just a kid. I had no idea what I wanted, and I made so many mistakes getting here. Life is so fucking hard, Prompto, and it took me a really long time to make my peace with the world. To figure it out.”

 

Prompto chews on his lip. He’s playing with an earring again. His eyes brim bright and red with the humiliation, the rejection. “Maybe I can grow up faster, then,” Prompto offers up, stubbornly. “I… I can figure it out. You can help me figure it out. I can get there, Noctis, I… I really _like_ you.”

 

“Fuck, it’s not that easy, Prompto,” Noctis laughs quietly. He’s maybe a little drunk, too. It’s late, almost midnight, and the exhaustion is making them both dumb. Prompto’s okay with that.

 

“You don’t just decide one day that you’re going to be an adult. It’s… it’s all about figuring out what _you_ want. It’s all about losing things, and discovering things, and so much life experience,” Noctis looks at Prompto again though, and his mind is saying one thing, those thought-out words, his eyes and his heart saying something _very_ different.

 

Prompto shifts. He leans in closer, and a hand slides over Noctis’s thigh. Noctis looks down, but he doesn’t shift it away. Prompto leans in closer, and he brushes his cheek over Noct’s shoulder, sighing at the warmth of his t-shirt, soft and well-worn, against his skin. It smells good. Noctis smells overwhelmingly _good._

 

“Let me try,” Prompto says, quiet, his voice full of drunken bravado and resolve. “I…. I don’t expect anything from you, Noctis. If you realize I’m just a kid, if life takes us different places, I… I’ll understand. Give me the chance though.”

 

Noctis tips his head. The television is still on in the background. Dark bangs fall over Noct’s eyes, half-obscuring his face from view. Prompto’s leaning in close though, and he sees the way the other man’s lips twitch. He’s close enough to make out the rough scruff of his stubble, the way his cheeks are slightly flushed. It has Prompto’s fingers itching to touch, to kiss, to have Noctis drag him back into his bed—

 

“Fuck,” Noctis says quiet, his voice husky with a different sort of emotion. “This can’t go anywhere. You know that, right?”

 

“Try me,” Prompto shoots back, and that’s somehow enough. It has Noctis reaching out, an arm curling around Prompto’s shoulders, and their lips bump together, in a kiss that’s awkward on Prompto’s part, expert on Noctis’s, and it _works._ It’s all the stupid things Prompto’s dreamed about, fireworks and heat and a warmth in his belly that spreads all through him like wildfire.

 

Noctis tastes like whiskey, and he’s intense. He kisses like a man who _knows_ how to kiss, his tongue working into Prompto’s mouth, tangling and sparring. He’s got one arm wrapped around Prompto’s shoulders, his hold hot and steady, the other hand cupping Prompto’s flushed cheek, stroking over freckles, thumb tracing the line of his jaw.

 

Prompto’s breathing heavily when they part. His heart is thumping and his pants feel a little bit tight. He tries to reach down, to the hem of his shirt, and Noctis carefully stops him, reaching to twine their fingers together, instead.

 

“Slow,” Noctis says, “if we’re doing _this,_ it’s going to be slow.”

 

Prompto frowns. But he can’t protest, because he’s just kissed the hottest guy he’s ever met. He leans in, nuzzling his cheek against Noct’s jaw, and the scruff of his stubble is scratchy and feels _good_ against his skin. “Okay,” he agrees, “slow.”

 

Noctis kisses him again. And then again, and again, until Prompto’s whimpering into the other man’s mouth, until his pants are so tight it _hurts,_ and he has to stop, because otherwise he’s going to be _that_ person, the one who makes a mess of themselves just from a bit of making out. Then, Noctis lets him curl up close, head on his shoulder, an arm wrapped around, and they’re mostly silent, watching the final bits of a movie neither of them paid attention to.

 

When Prompto wakes up in the morning, he’s alone in Noctis’s bed.  He doesn’t really remember getting here. He’s in his shorts and wearing an old t-shirt, one that smells of Noct’s cologne. He wonders, vaguely, what happened. He doesn’t feel _sore,_ not in the way he’s half-expecting, half-anticipating. It’s early, and his head hurts a little, but it’s nothing unmanageable.

 

Prompto shimmies back into his jeans, and he shuffles into the living room. The apartment is dim with early morning light.

 

Noctis, the perfect gentleman he is, is fast asleep on the couch. Prompto smiles as he stands there and watches, for a long moment. He writes down his phone number on the corner of an envelope that’s on Noct’s kitchen table, and he leaves it on the coffee table. ‘Text me,’ it says, and he puts a heart next to his name, as he carefully finishes getting dressed, and makes the jog home to feed his dog and take him for his morning walk.

 

\---

 

Prompto doesn’t know if he’s dating his college professor or not. It’s never really explicitly stated. They start seeing each other, though, and it fills in the gaps of no longer being in Noctis’s class during the week. Christmas break flies by, and the winter semester starts. He’s started bringing coffee and pastries to Noct’s office every week during his office hours.

 

They have a routine. Prompto will text ahead of time, to make sure that Noctis isn’t with a student. He’ll nudge his way into the office. He’ll close the door behind him, and click the lock.

 

Noctis is always hard at work. He’ll shut his laptop, and when Prompto reaches across the desk to hand over the coffee and pastry, Noct will cup his face, stroke over freckled skin, and drag him in for a kiss, one that’s long, and lingering, and affectionate, and it leaves Prompto flushed and wanting for more. Always more. But they’re taking it slow. So painfully slow.

 

After those delicious kisses stolen in Noct’s office, Noctis usually helps Prompto with his homework, as best as he can. He edits and tears apart essays for him. He teaches him math assignments. He’s helping him with his other economics class – even though Noctis, sadly, isn’t teaching it – and Prompto has to admit, the help makes it a lot easier. He’s actually doing relatively well in school, and it’s probably because he never, not once, misses a tutoring session with Noctis.

 

Weekends, they usually catch coffee together. Something innocent. Noctis doesn’t invite him back over to his place though, and when Prompto questions why, Noctis says it’s ‘too dangerous.’

 

Prompto flushes though, because Noct’s kisses become more heated, needier, as the months go by.

 

“Hey,” Noctis says one afternoon. They’re well into the heart of winter now. It’s always cold. The park near the coffee shop is a barren wasteland of dirty, packed down snow, and it’s bitterly cold outside. Prompto hates the cold, and even wrapped up in several layers, he’s shivering, his breath freezing in the air. Bean is dressed immaculately in a little knitted dog sweater and a pair of booties, and Noctis has been teasing him relentlessly about it, but it is _cold,_ and Prompto is definitely that kind of dog owner.

 

“Hey, yourself,” Prompto teases back. They’re finding a rhythm, in this relationship, or whatever it is. Noctis is intense, in a way that Prompto doesn’t quite get, but can appreciate. He’s relaxed, laid back and comfortable with himself, in some ways, but in others, he’s a whole new level. Prompto gets the feeling that he’s been through a lot, that he’s carried himself through heartache and sadness, and he’s come out the other side. Prompto, on the other hand, he’s sunshine and lightheartedness, and he’s so goddamn eager to please. He’s uncertain and fumbling still, and, well, Prompto desperately wants to think that it will work.

 

Noctis has outright told him that it won’t, but Prompto thinks, so far, that he’s doing a damn good job.

 

“Dinner tomorrow night?” Noctis says, slowly. “I don’t have any Monday lectures, and you only have the evening class, right?”

 

Prompto pauses for a moment. He’s processing three very distinct things that Noctis is saying. First. Dinner. They haven’t _officially_ done dinner yet. They’ve caught fast food together, or sat in the coffee shop and snacked. But a real dinner, that’s something new.

 

Second. Tomorrow is Sunday. If Noctis is talking casually about _Monday’s_ plans, that means that what? It’ll be a late night? Or it’ll continue into Monday? Prompto’s not sure. If he was older, if he had a few more years ahead of him, he’d maybe just be upfront and ask. Instead, he’ll obsess the entire day.

 

Third, Noctis knows his schedule. That, somehow, is important.

 

“Yeah,” Prompto agrees, voice bright and vivid, “sounds perfect, Noct.”

 

\---

 

Prompto googles the restaurant Noctis picked, and luckily, it’s nothing too fancy. He still spends time obsessing over how he looks. He changes his outfit three times. He switches out his earrings a few times. He does his makeup.

 

“How do I look, Bean?” he asks his dog. Bean tips his head and begs for a treat in response, and Prompto laughs. He feeds the dog an early dinner and makes sure he has lots of fresh water before he bundles up in his winter coat.

 

The little restaurant Noctis has picked is quiet and secluded, dimly lit, with a romantic ambiance. It’s absolutely _perfect._ Prompto’s pretty sure they aren’t doing anything wrong – this didn’t officially start until after he finished up Noct’s class – and they’re both consenting adults, at least in the eye of the law. It doesn’t mean he isn’t a little nervous though, going on a real date, where people can _see_ them.

 

Noctis holds his chair out for him when they’re seated, and Prompto flushes.

 

“How’s your dissertation going?” Prompto asks, after they’ve ordered. Their drinks arrive, and Prompto’s tastes strong, bitter, burning his tongue, but he sips at it politely anyway.

 

“Long,” Noctis admits, with a sigh, “but it’s almost done.”

 

“Then you’ll be _Doctor_ Caelum, huh?” Prompto says with a teasing little smile. Noctis rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but he looks amused.

 

“I’ll still be just Noctis, honestly. Won’t say no to a pay raise, though,” Noctis laughs. “How’d your test go last week? I never asked.”

 

“It was okay,” Prompto admits, with a slight frown. He appreciates that about Noctis, that he asks about his problems, even though they’re on totally different levels. There’s always the concern that this is going to fade away, that Noctis is going to realize he’s too old, that Prompto is too young, and he’s going to end it. It’s hard to avoid the truth of the matter, too, because Noctis was upfront.

 

“I got a new comic, the other day,” Noctis changes the subject, though, and Prompto grins. Despite their differences, despite that gap in life experience, they do share the same interests. Noct’s secret pleasure is comics, and Prompto just so happens to read most of the same ones, and their tastes, there, complement each other wonderfully. “You should read it when I’m done. It’s a first edition, too.”

 

“Which one?” Prompto leans forward in his chair. The toe of Noct’s shoe traces up Prompto’s shin, and he shivers a little, returning the gesture with a wandering foot of his own, but more than that, he’s interested in Noctis’s words.

 

“It’s a new one. About four friends who have the save the world, but the main character, he’s got to self-sacrifice; a martyrdom thing. It sounds dumb, I _know,_ but the characters are good,” Noctis starts to say, leaning forward in his seat, “you’d like it, it’s similar to that other one you like…”  They end up arguing over the merits of a particular series Prompto is fond of, and Noctis even _more_ fond of, and somehow, the simple banter makes it feel like really, the age thing doesn’t matter. This is all they need.

 

Prompto’s drunk on emotions, more than anything, when he agrees to go back to Noct’s flat after the date. He’s a little tipsy, but he’s not drunk. The food was good. Their hands are bare even though it’s cold out, fingers tangled together as they walk. Noctis keeps leaning in and nudging their shoulders together. His cheek is scruffy when Prompto nuzzles in. The air is freezing, and it doesn’t matter.

 

When they get inside Noct’s apartment, the door is barely closed before Noctis has Prompto backed up against the wall. Prompto sighs, and he hoists himself up a little, a leg curling around Noct’s waist, arms thrown around his neck. Noctis’s beard scratches Prompto’s neck as he layers kisses there, over his jaw, across to his ear, teeth clicking against the line of rings looped through the cartilage.

 

“Noctis,” Prompto breathes out, as his head tips back against the wall, “can we?”

 

Noctis pauses for a moment, even as he’s lifting his hands between them, working the buttons of Prompto’s jacket, letting it fall to the floor between them. “Let’s see where it goes,” he says, quietly, and his eyes are intense, before he goes back in for more of those kisses, over freckled skin, lips delicate and slow as he brushes them over Prompto’s eyelids, down to the other ear, back across to his lips.

 

It’s something like being devoured. Prompto’s trembling a little, but when he works Noctis’s own jacket off, fingers slipping under the hem, stroking over hot skin, Noctis doesn’t stop him.

 

They end up on the couch, Prompto straddling Noct’s lap, both of them panting as their lips press wet and needy together, tongues tangling. Prompto’s got a hand in Noct’s hair, tugging greedily as Noctis breaks off, works down his neck, rough enough that it’ll leave a dark bruise behind, a memory of the night’s events.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto shudders, as he rocks his hips forward, and he can feel the heat of Noct’s arousal press against his own through their pants. The friction is good, it’s delicious, the air is thick with tangible need. Prompto isn’t a virgin, thank fucking god, but he’s not exactly experienced, either. Noct’s hand is on his hip, slowly guiding the thrusts, slowing them into a steady, rhythm, one that’s all rolling hips and bated breaths and lips finding each other again and again.

 

“I want you,” Prompto says, and he’s drunk on hormones and the drink from earlier and _other_ feelings, ones that are powerful and intense. He wants to be naked, to be pressed skin-to-skin with Noctis. He wants to feel him inside, stretching him open and marking him intimately, distinctly.

 

“Not yet,” Noctis replies in that quiet, calm voice of his, but his fingers dip into Prompto’s hips, and they roll and buck against each other, rutting through their clothing until Prompto gasps, coming messily in his pants. Noctis shudders as Prompto goes breathless, boneless, and he keeps working his own hips up, kissing into Prompto’s sweaty forehead, into the sideswept curls of his hair, until he follows with a soft, strangled sound, one that Prompto’s going to dream about forever.

 

“You need to just fuck me already, Noctis,” Prompto says, a little later. They’ve cleaned up, and Noctis offers him some fresh clothing to wear. There’s something warm and intimate about being wrapped up in a pair of Noct’s sweatpants and an old t-shirt. Noctis makes some coffee, and they’re watching a fishing show, one that Noctis is stupidly into, in a way that has Prompto smiling, feeling, just a little bit, like he properly _knows_ the man.

 

“Prompto,” Noctis says, slowly, though he’s reluctant to drag his eyes away from the screen. “I dunno if that’s a good idea. I remember being your age, and… sex and emotions. They were so tied together, back then.”

 

Prompto sighs. They’re here again. They’re talking about this, even as they’re curled up on the couch, in some strange façade of domestic bliss. “You’re trying to tell me this isn’t something again, Noctis?”

 

“No,” Noctis frowns. He tips his head, and he nudges his scruffy cheek into the top of Prompto’s head. “Just… don’t fall in love with me, okay, Prompto? I can’t handle that. You can’t, either. You might think you can, but…”

 

Prompto wants to tell Noctis that he thinks he’s already in love, but what good does that do? He tries not to dwell on it. He spends the night, and they share Noctis’s bed together, Noct’s arm curled around his waist. Prompto’s itching to touch, but he’s good, he behaves, and eventually, he falls asleep, his cheek warm and resting on Noctis’s chest.

 

\---

 

Prompto’s got a new set of love bites lining his neck when his dad comes over for dinner one night.

 

Prompto’s a half-decent cook. His dad taught him well. He’s just thrown together a couple of steaks, baked potatoes wrapped in foil and some steamed asparagus. He’s started a part time job on campus, and the little bit of extra cash is making him feel good about himself. So he’s determined to treat his dad to a little something.

 

His father’s got a bad knee these days, and it’s a bit of a hassle getting up the stairs. He still crouches down to pet Bean though, the dog eagerly sitting at his feet and licking his fingers.

 

“You’ve got something on your neck, kiddo,” Cor points out with a harsh laugh as he tugs Prompto in a hug. Prompto flushes bright, his fingers drifting over the dark bruises that line his throat, and he wishes he’d had the foresight to cover them up.

 

“It’s _fine_. You’re an adult now. Just my job, as your dad, to tease you about it. And to threaten death to whoever gave you those marks, if they hurt you.”

 

Prompto doesn’t entirely know if his dad is joking. “I can take care of myself, y’know,” he tries to say as they part, and he doesn’t know if either of them believe that.

 

“Do I get to meet them?” his father asks, as they sit down to dinner.

 

Prompto frowns. He leans forward a little, poking at his food. “Probably not. He’s… I dunno. I don’t think you’ll approve, dad. It’s a complicated situation.”

 

“Hm,” Cor looks thoughtful. “Well, we all go through our share of shitty relationships, growing up. Part of figuring out who we are. Promise you’ll be careful, son? And you come to me if you get hurt. I _will_ kick some ass.”

 

Prompto laughs a little. “I’m safe, dad. It’s just… he’s intense. Doesn’t think I’m ready.”

 

“Are you?” it’s a simple question, a statement, nonjudgmental, just… honest.

 

Prompto doesn’t know how to answer it. “Maybe. I dunno, dad. It’s a lot.”

 

\---

 

“I told my dad about you.”

 

Prompto doesn’t know why he says it. They’re at Noctis’s place. They always end up at Noct’s apartment. Prompto likes it. It makes him feel cozy, warm, like he _knows_ Noctis a little bit better. The maid – because Noctis has confided that much, that he has a housekeeper – has just come by, and it’s a bit tidier than usual. Noct’s in the depths of finishing up his doctorate though, and it’s obvious, by the way there are books and papers strewn everywhere, half-finished ideas jotted down on paper and left to wither away and die as nothing more than a moment’s inspiration never come to fruition.

 

Noctis pauses. He lifts an eye. “Should I be afraid for my life?”

 

“Probably,” Prompto grins. Noctis had warned he’d be shitty company tonight. He’s desperately trying to finish up grading some papers, and they’ve been lying on his couch in relative silence. Prompto’s okay with it. He’s playing a game on his phone. He brought his tablet and a few textbooks with the intention of studying, but instead he’s been leaning against Noctis instead, procrastinating.

 

“He doesn’t want to meet me, does he?”

 

Prompto rolls his eyes and sits up. He puts his phone down. “I didn’t tell him any details. Just that you exist. He uh… he’s overprotective. And he’s trying to give me space, but I’m pretty sure if he knew how old you are, he’d kick your ass.”

 

Noctis puts his pen down, and his stack of half-graded papers aside. “I’d deserve it. My own father, if he could see me…” he sighs, eyes darting to one of the photos on the wall, the one of what Prompto can only assume is a younger Noctis, with an older man.

 

“He was sick for a long time. I knew it was coming, but…” Noctis sighs. He shakes his head. Prompto’s hand gently, slowly, reaches between them, tentatively twining their fingers together.

 

“I can’t imagine losing my dad. I… I’m sorry, Noctis,” Prompto says quietly. He really can’t picture it. His own father is gruff, rough around the edges, somewhat commanding and incredibly disciplined, to a fault at times, from years in the army. He’s almost ready to retire now, but being a single dad balancing military life and a kid, it did something to him. They’re close, but it’s never been easy, always been a struggle.

 

Noctis squeezes Prompto’s hand. “I was married, you know. We were young. Thought we were in love. Then dad died, and I just… I changed. I became someone else. Lost most of my friends, lost my wife, everyone just… they couldn’t handle me. I dunno who I became, Prompto, but…”

 

Their eyes meet, Noct’s head tipped to the side, catching Prompto’s gaze. There’s tears there, Prompto realizes with a start, unshed, but burning bright. There’s so much. Noctis is so much that Prompto doesn’t understand, that he desperately _wants_ to, and so many other things that he _gets._

 

“I didn’t know,” Prompto says quietly. “The pictures on the wall…”

 

“That’s Luna, my ex. My old friends, too,” Noctis blinks back the wetness in his eyes, straightens his expression a little. “We’re civil now. All of us, we talk from time to time, but… I don’t know. I’m at peace with the past. I can’t be mad at them for giving up on me, I was a mess, and it wasn’t easy for them either. It’s just… I can’t go back, you know?”

 

Prompto, he wishes he knew. He wishes he understood, because then maybe, he and Noctis could be together, properly. But he’s young, he’s so inexperienced, and all he knows is that he’s in love with this beautiful, complicated man in front of him. And he yearns, so badly, to be the person that Noctis needs.

 

“Noctis, I…” Prompto tries. He leans in, practically draping himself over Noct’s side. “… I’m not very smart. Kinda dumb, really. And I don’t really know what I’m doing in life yet, not really. But I know that… whatever shit happened, it’s made you a _good_ guy, Noct. I… wanna be there. Here. I want to stay by your side. As long as you’ll let me.”

 

“You’re not dumb. Just young,” Noctis says, simply, “and I know. I want you here. As long as we can, Prom.”

 

Later that night, Noctis drags Prompto to his bed. They’re kissing, desperate and heated. Noct’s fingers drift up the back of Prompto’s shirt, and the touch is fire. It has Prompto breaking off, eager and hormonal, just long enough to tug his shirt up over his head. Noct’s shirt comes next, and they’re pressed hot, skin against skin, chest to chest, as Noctis falls backwards onto his bed and pulls Prompto to crouch over top of him.

 

“I want you,” Prompto’s saying, shuddering when Noct’s fingers slip between them, working at his belt. “Fuck, Noctis, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

 

“Come here,” Noctis replies, words a breathy, heated whisper against hot skin as he licks a wet stripe over Prompto’s jaw. He tugs Prompto’s pants and boxers down narrow hips and _tugs,_ pulling him up until he’s straddling Noct’s face.

 

Prompto flushes. He feels exposed, a little vulnerable. More than that though, he feels _powerful._ His hands reach out, and he grips at the top of the headboard, balancing there, shifting his weight awkwardly as Noctis tugs his pants the rest of the way off, until he can kick them free.

 

“You look good,” Noctis says, quietly, and Prompto _wants_ to respond with something witty, he really does, but Noct’s craning his neck, leaning in just right, and his lips close around the tip of Prompto’s flushed cock. The world goes blank a little, and Prompto gasps, rocking his hips forward.

 

It’s a lot of pent-up need, here. There’s been fantasies about this. He’s wanted this for so goddamn long, Noct’s head between his thighs. His beard is scraping over the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, a hand gripping firmly at his ass, kneading and tugging his aching cock deeper into Noctis’s mouth. The other hand is working up over his hip, holding him there, playing with those damn piercings Prompto got all those months back. They had rejected the first time and he’d had to get them redone, but this time, they’d kept, and it feels _so_ fucking good, having Noct’s fingers playing and tugging lightly. They cover up the silvery faded stretch marks on his hips, and they make him feel like he’s _someone else._

 

Noctis draws back a little, tongue darting out to swipe at the precum pearling at the tip of Prompto’s cock. “You’ve done this before, right?” he asks.

 

Prompto laughs breathlessly, “shitty time to ask, Noctis. Yeah.”

 

“All of this?” Noct follows up the question with another question, a _loaded_ one, and Prompto shudders. He lifts a hand from the headboard, reaches back, and drags Noct’s hand across the spread cheek of one ass, to press his fingers firmly over where he wants to be touched most.

 

“Only a couple of times. But yeah, I’ve been fucked before,” Prompto laughs, the sound catching in his throat as the tip of a finger works gentle pressure against his tight opening.

 

“I’m not going to fuck you,” Noctis murmurs, drawing his fingers away. Prompto starts to complain, a whine building in his throat, but Noct’s gripping his thighs, dragging him up higher, and when a tongue darts out, wet-hot pressure laved to the underside of his balls, back over his perineum, the sound dies on Prompto’s tongue.

 

“Relax,” Noctis says, and a tongue’s working over the tight ring of muscle, pressing inside, and Prompto cries out, hands gripping tight at the headboard again. He rides it out, and it’s a mess of sensation. It’s Noct’s beard scratching the bottom of his ass, the inside of his thighs. It’s a hand keeping his ass spread open, the other hand working around the front, curling around Prompto’s cock and stroking him in time. Noctis is _good_ at this, knows just how to eat him out, tongue working heated wet lashes against his prostate. Prompto both hates and loves how intense it is, because he’s lost, his thighs shaking, his hips jerking down into that wet tongue splitting him open, the forward, into the fist that’s working his cock.

 

He comes in a messy spurt, all over Noct’s cheeks and getting thick and messy in his hair. Noctis only smirks though, drawing his face away as Prompto sits back, straddling Noctis’s shoulders. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripped at the headboard, and his chest is heaving.

 

“Fuck, Noctis,” Prompto mumbles, and he realizes his throat is raw, like he’s been gasping and moaning, and he realizes that he has been, that Noct’s name is so familiar on his lips, it’s jolting.

 

“Better?” Noctis asks, lifting a hand to his face and wiping away some of the mess, swiping it clean on the sheets.

 

“Better once you get off too,” Prompto replies with a breathless laugh. He slides down Noct’s body, and he half expects Noctis to stop him. He doesn’t, though, and his fingers tangle in Prompto’s hair, encouraging, desperate, as Prompto takes his cock down. He’s done _this_ enough times that he doesn’t outright choke, though his eyes water and his jaw aches and stretches around Noct’s girth as he tries to get him in all the way. The noises Noctis makes though, quiet gasps, eyes lidded and burning with lust as he watches Prompto work, it’s all enough.

 

Prompto learns a lot of things quickly. He learns that Noctis likes a smooth, steady pace. He likes it when he hollows his cheeks and sucks, and he especially likes it when Prompto drags the flat of his tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his cock with each upwards bob of his head. His fingers are restless – they always are – and they skim over his hip, along the defined curve of pelvic bone, down to work his balls, rollng them in his palm.

 

Noctis jerks his hips up, and comes down his throat, and Prompto swallows it all. The taste isn’t so bad, and he works Noct through the orgasm, until the other man is trembling and gasping and pulling his head away.

 

“You’re _really_ good at that,” Noctis says, shakily, when he remembers how to breathe again. Prompto laughs, and he climbs up Noct’s body, snuggling up close until they find the energy to get up and cleaned off.

 

\---

 

The school year is ending when Noctis finishes his doctorate degree, finally. Prompto doesn’t understand all the details, if he’s being honest, but he knows that completing it at age thirty is a pretty big deal. He’s finished up his first year of his undergrad, and, well, that accomplishment feels pathetic in comparison. But he passes everything, and his dad takes him out for dinner.

 

“It’s not a big deal, dad,” Prompto grumbles when his dad insists on them ordering a dessert to share. “I… I have a long way to go.” He has a summer internship lined up. A cute girl in his class asked him out after their exam, but Prompto turned her down – he’s got someone else, he offered up, vague and nondescript – and really, he’s well on his way to getting there. Slowly.

 

“You’ve gotten further than I ever did, kiddo,” Cor says, and he’s smiles. He’s all goddamn smiles. Prompto can’t help but feel a little streak of pride, that he’s doing his dad proud. Even if things with Noctis are a mess, even if he’s still not where he needs to be, his dad thinks it’s enough. He should tell his dad about Noctis, but he can’t, not right now.

 

\---

 

A little later, a few days, they celebrate Noctis’s fancy new degree with pizza delivered to Noct’s apartment. Half barbeque chicken, half extra cheese and pepperoni. Noctis has a weird palette, Prompto has noticed. He doesn’t like a lot of things.

 

“So, what comes next?” Prompto asks, as they’re eating pizza and drinking a cheap bottle of champagne. Neither of them particularly like champagne, but it feels like it’s the right, adult thing to do, celebrating a special occasion.

 

Noctis doesn’t answer immediately, and Prompto’s stomach drops. He doesn’t know why. It’s just a feeling, an instinct. Maybe he knows Noctis better than he thinks he does.

 

“I got an offer,” Noctis says, slowly, “at another college. Not around here. It’s… pretty far away.”

 

“Oh,” Prompto says. Slowly. “Are you going to take it?”  


Noctis sighs. “I… dunno yet, Prom. It’s a good offer. It’s better money, there’s a chance at tenure, they’re gonna let me focus more on my research. It’s just…”

 

“I can transfer,” Prompto says, the first chance he gets. His mind is racing. “I… my dad will understand. I have good grades, Noctis. I’m sure I can get in. Me and Bean, we can figure it out, we like adventure—“

 

“No,” Noctis interrupts, and it’s harsh. He looks down, for a moment, and when he lifts his gaze again, his eyes are wet. There’s always so much between them, unspoken. “Prompto. You aren’t throwing away everything you know to chase me halfway around the world. You’ll get angry, and resentful, and I’m… I’m not worth that. You need to figure this out on your own, Prom. You can’t rely on me to help you figure things out.”

 

The words hurt. They hurt so much, and Prompto’s hands ball into fists at his side. He wants to argue, bitterly and angrily and loudly, that he’s not _that_ young. That he can make it work. That this is the best time for him to broaden his horizons, to see new sights, right?

 

But his dad isn’t getting any younger. Prompto still doesn’t know what he wants to _do,_ and the idea of throwing a ton of money to follow Noctis across the world, it just isn’t practical. Noctis is right. Goddamnit, he’s right.

 

“How long?” Prompto asks, instead of arguing, instead of fighting. He sounds defeated, exhausted.

 

“I have to let them know by the end of the month,” Noctis says, quietly. “And then I’d have another month to move… I don’t want to tell them no, Prompto, I don’t want to give this up, but…”

 

“Go, then,” Prompto says, and he takes his first unsteady, tentative step into adulthood with the words. He hates the way they sound, and he hates the way his heart is breaking, but Noctis had been right all along, hadn’t he? Eventually, they’d reach a crossroads, a place where their paths split, where the age and experience gap was unsurmountable, and they’ve finally found it, it seems.

 

Later, that night, he’s got his back pressed into Noctis’s mattress. Noctis is moving over him, fingers slick with lubricant as they work inside of him. It feels _good,_ Noctis feels so fucking good. It’s the first time they’ve done it like this, and Prompto’s so goddamn ready.

 

 _“Noct,”_ Prompto manages, as Noctis crooks three fingers in deep, white-hot pleasure exploding before his eyelids, turning everything to goo. His fingers are gripping at Noct’s shoulder blades. It’s hard to think. Noctis laughs, a quiet, needy sound, and he kisses him, hard and urgent, before the fingers withdraw.

 

There’s the familiar burn and ache as Noctis presses inside of him, but it’s nothing – _nothing –_ compared to the feeling of completion. Prompto wraps his legs around Noct’s waist as he starts to move inside. It’s deep, steady thrusts, ones that work deep and slide over his prostate with little jolts of pleasure with every glide of hips. Prompto’s cock is trapped between their bellies. Noct’s lips are on his, working over his jaw, across his neck, leaving dark bruises with every nip and bite. The scruff of his beard is _everything,_ it’s something so uniquely Noctis, that it leaves Prompto’s heart screaming, sobbing, wanting for more.

 

Noctis tugs Prompto’s hips higher, presses a kiss into his shoulder, and it’s an explosion of hot friction over his prostate, something that buzzes all through. Prompto’s gripping Noct’s shoulders so hard he’s leaving little red, crescent shaped marks with his nails. He doesn’t know if he’s sobbing or he’s gasping or he’s saying nothing at all, but it’s all a blur. It’s all moonlight shining in through Noct’s bedroom window, the creak of the mattress beneath them, heated gasps and heavy breath.

 

Prompto comes when Noctis slides a hand between them, strokes his cock in those rough, heavy strokes his loves, thumb rubbing over the leaking head. He keens and tenses and he spurts his release over their bellies, and Noctis follows him there, with a few desperate, jerky thrusts of his hips. Prompto shudders, feels the wet-hot mess of Noct’s release inside, and he feels complete.

 

Noctis withdraws, after a few minutes, and gets up. He comes back with a wet cloth and cleans them up, and then he settles down, arms curling around Prompto’s waist. Prompto feels like crying. He thinks Noctis does, too, but they don’t talk about it. They simply lie there, enjoying each other’s company, the warmth and comfort of their cooling bodies.

 

\---

 

The day Noctis leaves, Prompto’s heart breaks. He doesn’t know if he wants to see him off. He doesn’t know if he _should._ He still shows up though, just as they’re loading the last of Noct’s stuff up into the van.

 

“Hey,” Prompto says, quietly. Noctis is leaning against his car. It’s got his suitcase and a cat carrier in the backseat.

 

“Hey,” Noctis says, and he manages a little smile. “Didn’t know if you’d come.”

 

“Didn’t know if I would, either,” Prompto admits. “I…” he’s playing with his earring, the nervous gesture again. “Your flight leave soon?”

 

“This evening,” Noctis nods. “Redeye. Sold my car to a colleague. Gotta drop it off with him, and then he’s going to take me to the airport.”

 

“Right,” Prompto’s voice sounds empty. His words, emptier.

 

“I got you something,” Noctis says, quietly, and he tugs a little box out of his pocket. He hands it over, their fingers brushing cruelly, and Prompto doesn’t want to open it. His fingers are trembling something fierce, and he almost drops it. He doesn’t though, and when he opens the little box, it’s a little set of sunflower earrings.

 

“They remind me of you,” Noctis offers up, when Prompto doesn’t say anything. “You’re… bright. Vivid. Beautiful. Like a sunflower. Fuck, I’m bad at words, Prompto, but… you were a splash of colour in my life, when I really needed it. I. Uh. Thank you, for that.”

 

“Fuck,” Prompto says, and he quickly closes the box, dropping it in his pocket. He’s moving, a fucking blur of motion, and his arms are wrapping tight around Noct’s neck, his face buried into his sweater, and the tears start to fall. “Fuck, Noctis. Fuck. I… I’m going to miss you, I don’t want you to go, I’m _sorry.”_

 

Noct’s arms slowly circle around Prompto’s waist, and he pulls him close. He holds him there, like that, for a while. “I know,” Noctis says, quietly, “I’m sorry too, Prompto. If things were different, maybe…”

 

Prompto knows. “Can I keep writing you? Can we text?”

 

“Yeah,” Noctis says, “but… don’t wait, okay? You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

 

Prompto isn’t so sure, but he nods.

 

\---

 

“New earrings?” his father asks. Prompto feels stupid for running to his dad’s, but it’s all he can do to keep himself from catching a ride to the airport, from booking a flight and following Noctis. He feels numb. Everything hurts, and he wants to crawl into bed and fall asleep. But that will just start him on a path, on a cycle he won’t be able to escape from, so he’s here. They’re watching a dumb war movie and eating microwave popcorn.

 

“Yeah,” Prompto says, flushing, greasy fingers playing over the little flower. “Noctis gave them to me.”

 

His father gives him a _look._ “Noctis?”

 

It’s a secret Prompto’s kept close-guarded, apart from that one vague mention, so many months back, about his heart being broken, about getting hurt. And, well, he’s hurt.

 

“The guy I was dating,” Prompto says slowly. “Don’t hate him, dad, don’t get mad, it’s just… he took another job. Moved away today. He’s… not in college anymore, and he told me not to follow him so…”

 

The tears fall, and Prompto can’t hold them back.

 

“C’mere,” Cor says, tugging his son into his arms. “He’s right, you know. You can’t give up your life to chase someone else. This Noctis, whoever he is, he knows a thing or two.”

 

“I guess,” Prompto sniffs, but he’s still crying into his father’s shirt, his eyes scrunched shut, his cheeks shiny with tears, “but it still hurts.”

 

“Oh, I’m still gonna kick his ass if he ever comes back,” Cor admits with a harsh laugh, “but I guess I’ll let him live.”

 

\---

 

At first, Prompto texts, and Noctis texts back instantly.

 

But it happens. Even with technology, life happens. Noctis starts his work, and he’s busy all the time. The texts slow, until it’s one or two a day, and there’s always a delay between their responses.

 

Prompto starts his second year of college. His internship goes well, and they hire him on permanently in a part time position. He signs up for a marathon, because everyone says when you go through a breakup, you should hit the gym. He’s always liked running, and he hasn’t been doing as much of it since he met Noctis and started college.

 

There’s a time difference, too, and it’s only three hours, but it’s enough that his schedule with Noctis is always _off._

 

A cute guy in Prompto’s class asks him out one day, and Prompto hates that he instantly turns it down. It’s not that he expects Noctis to wait for him. It’s not that Prompto even expects to see him again. It’s just… his heart is still broken into a million pieces, and that’s all he really wants.

 

They Facetime on weekends, sometimes. Noctis shaves the beard, and Prompto makes fun of him for it. Prompto tries to grow a goatee, and Noctis is the one to tell him the awful truth, that it looks _awful._

 

“I miss you,” Prompto says, simply, one day. He’s lying in bed with Bean on a Saturday morning. It’s already afternoon for Noctis, and he’s barely stumbled out of bed. He’s shirtless, sitting on his couch, chewing a muffin.

 

“I miss you too,” Noctis sighs, quietly.

 

“Maybe I should visit. I got a job,” Prompto offers, a little hesitantly. He’s scratching Bean behind the ears. He’s fiddling with the sunflower earring. It’s his default one, now.

 

“… that’s probably not a good idea,” Noctis says, slowly. “Not for the reason you’re thinking, Prom. It’s just… you’ve got two and a half more years of this. If we keep doing this… that’s two more years of _this._ Of waking up alone. Of missing each other’s calls.”

 

Prompto thinks he knew this moment was coming. It’s not a surprise. It hurts, but maybe not in the way he expected it to. There’s no tears, just a weary exhaustion, because he _knows._ Being alone sucks.

 

“We should probably stop talking so much, huh, Noct?” he says, quietly. It’s been four months, and already it feels like a fucking lifetime since Noctis held him in his arms, before getting into his car and driving out of his life.

 

“You should go on some dates. Mess around some. Live it up. You’re only in college once,” Noctis replies with that same quiet laugh, though this time, it sounds remorseful, reluctant.

 

“Says the college professor who’s been there for eleven years,” Prompto teases, and he manages to keep his voice lighthearted, to mask the sound of his heart breaking.

 

\---

 

They still talk, from time to time, but Noctis is right. They need to cool it off. Prompto tries to go on some dates. He even gets a boyfriend, a relationship that lasts six months before the guy comments that Prompto’s scared of commitment and breaks it off.

 

Prompto can’t help it. He has high standards. He’s fallen trap to the ‘first love,’ the one that he can’t quite let go of.

 

Noctis does well, too. He avoids any of Prompto’s questions, about whether he’s found someone, or he’s been dating. He talks about work a lot. His classes are going well. His research is going better. He’s apparently rekindled a couple of old friendships, with the guys from the photos that Prompto still remembers. That’s good. He’s glad that Noctis is doing well.

 

Prompto does well too, he supposes. He moves on from his first marathon to an iron man challenge.

 

Work goes well. They offer him a contract to start with them full time after he graduates, if he finishes up his business degree. He’s in the marketing department, and it combines practicality with his newfound love of photography. His dad buys him a fancy camera, and most of his electives involve various levels of artsy photography courses. It’s a nice balance.

 

“You’ve grown up well,” Prompto’s dad tells him, as he finishes his second year of college, and goes into his third.

 

He has. But he still thinks about Noctis.

 

\---

 

In his third year, they fall out of contact for a while. It just happens.

 

Prompto’s got a girlfriend, now, a wonderful lady named Cindy. His dad gets along with her pretty well. They both have a love and appreciation for classical cars, and Prompto’s found her hanging around at his dad’s house more than once, in the garage, a couple of sodas cracked open and grease everywhere.

 

It’s a coincidence when one day, Prompto checks his Facebook account. He doesn’t use it very often, just to keep a vague, professional image up. There’s a message, and his heart drops when he realizes it’s from Noctis. Cindy’s driving them home from a date.

 

“Somethin’ wrong?” she asks, giving Prompto a sideways glance.

 

“Nothing,” Prompto says, and he waits until Cindy drops him off before he opens the message.

 

_Prom- Dropped my phone in a lake on a trip with Gladio a couple of weeks ago. I hate to admit that after all these years, I still don’t have your number memorized. I was kinda freaked out, realizing I didn’t have a way of contacting you, and I know you don’t use your old email. Hoping you check this? I’m gonna be in town in a few weeks for a grad seminar. Want to catch dinner? No pressure, just old friends catching up._

It’s a bad idea. These days, Noctis is just a distant memory, in the back of Prompto’s mind. Ever present, always there, and he probably will be _forever,_ but Prompto can work with it.

 

 _Yeah, dinner sounds good,_ he replies back.

 

\---

 

Seeing Noctis again, after almost two years, it’s a shock.

 

“Hey,” Prompto tries to sound casual. He’s picked the restaurant. It’s a favourite of his and his dad’s. The atmosphere is casual, and it allows a bit of privacy, but not _too much._ Prompto’s very convinced that this is going to be it. This is going to be the realization he needs, to know that this fling of theirs is firmly in the past. That he’s moved past it, and all those lingering feelings are inspired purely by nostalgia.

 

“Hey, Prom,” Noctis looks as good as always. He’s still so fucking hot. He’s wearing a suit, but the top button’s undone, and his tie is loosened. “Been a while.”

 

“It’s been so fucking long, Noctis,” Prompto admits, in a rush, and he hates how the feelings come tumbling back in, instantly.

 

Noctis sits down at the table across from him, and Prompto hates how the urge is still there to reach across the table and tangle their fingers together. Noctis doesn’t look a day older. He’s clean-shaven still, but his eyes are bright, intense.

 

“You look good,” Prompto says.

 

“You look better,” Noctis laughs in response, and Prompto flushes, even though he knows it’s true. He works out a lot, and he’ll never be bulky, always will be small and lean, but he’s a lot of muscle. His freckles are darker, from hours of sunlight. His hair is a bit longer, and he styles it a little differently these days. He’s gotten his tongue pierced, too, playing with the metal stud between his teeth and tugging it around.

 

They talk for a long time. They talk until the restaurant closes, actually, and then they keep talking as they walk back to Prompto’s place. Noct’s staying in a hotel near the college, and he says he can take an uber back. Prompto’s still in the same little flat. The furniture isn’t quite as pathetic anymore. He’s replaced his shitty secondhand couch with a real, leather one. He’s got a real coffee table instead of a flimsy little end table from a big box store.

 

“Hey, Bean,” Noctis laughs, kneeling down and offering a hand when they get to Prompto’s front door. The dog bounds over happily, licking at Noct’s face and wagging his stubby little tail, like no time has passed at all.

 

Prompto hesitates. “I uh. I want to ask you in, but that’s probably a bad idea, isn’t it? I… have a girlfriend.”

 

Noctis straightens, and he nods. “I’ve got a hotel, anyway. It was… good to see you, Prom. You’ve… come a long way.”

 

A long way, but not far enough, Prompto wants to think. There’s an awkward hug, one where they’re both desperately trying not to let go, while simultaneously not letting themselves fall into each other’s arms.

 

They stop talking again, after that. It’s just too hard.

 

\---

 

At the start of Prompto’s fourth year of college, he breaks up with Cindy. She sees it coming, and they’ve realized they’re way better friends than lovers. They fall into a natural friendship, and it’s better this way. Prompto’s glad for it.

 

“Your ex,” Cindy says one day, “well. Not me. Your _ex ex.”_

 

They take a class together. Fourth year advanced marketing management theory. It’s a class that somehow manages to be even _more_ boring than it sounds, a miracle in itself. The professor is ranting on about something that neither of them will ever use, and they’re taking the opportunity to chat in the back row.

 

“What about him?” Prompto frowns. There’s only one ex that she could be talking about. Only one that really _means_ something.

 

“You’re in love with him still, aren’t ya?”

 

Prompto makes a startled noise, one that earns them a glare from the professor. “Cindy. What the hell is inspiring this?”

 

Cindy laughs, quietly, and shrugs, “just a question I’ve always wanted to ask ya. I always saw it in your eyes. And, well, _normal_ people, Prom, they don’t wear a gift from their ex three years down the line…” she pokes, playfully, at his ear. He’s still wearing that old sunflower, even though the colour’s faded some, and it’s a bit well-worn.

 

“It doesn’t matter, Cindy,” Prompto says, quietly, “it’s been years. Noct’s moved on. I’ve moved on.”

 

“Have you?”

 

\---

 

Four months before Prompto’s set to graduate, they get the news, and his world cracks and shatters.

 

Cancer.

 

His dad hasn’t been feeling well for a while now, and Prompto’s been pushing him to go to a doctor. Cor’s stubborn, though, insistent that everything is okay, until suddenly, one day, it’s not okay.

 

“I’ll move back home,” Prompto says, as they sit in the doctor’s office at the local hospital. There’s a whole lot of terms being thrown their way. A whole lot of specialized tests that have been done, biopsies and scans and things Prompto doesn’t understand, and doesn’t think he’s meant to. The words ‘terminal’ and ‘a few months’ are the ones that stand out.

 

“I can ask Cindy to watch Bean, and I’ll move in, and we’ll get through this together. I can put off my last semester, I—“

 

“No,” Cor sounds exhausted. His dad sounds old, exhausted, worn down, and it’s terrifying, seeing his father this way. Prompto knows he’s been sick, increasingly so, and he supposes that in his mind, he was justifying it, making up a million excuses instead of staring at the obvious. His dad’s gonna die, and there’s nothing either of them can do about it.

 

“Haven’t I been telling you to finish school, Prompto?” his father says, quietly. It’s later, and they’re home from the hospital. They’ve got decisions to make, but none of the treatment looks good. It all looks horrible, painful, exhausting, and with no real promise of success. It’s too much. Prompto’s head is spinning.

 

“That’s before, dad. Nothing else matters, I want to spend this time with you, I—“

 

“Move back in, then. Bring Bean. And don’t drop your classes. We’ll make it work. I’m old, Prompto, and I want to see you succeed. That’s the _most_ important thing,” his father is saying. Prompto doesn’t know if that’s true. He thinks the most important thing is his dad living. He’s not that old. He’s only fifty. It’s really not fair.

 

\---

 

There’s nothing like watching a loved one die to realize your own mortality. There’s also nothing that makes you grow up faster. Prompto realizes that, as the months go by. He’s even busier now. He cuts down on his hours at work – they understand, given the situation – but he keeps going to his classes. It’s hard to concentrate, when he wants to spend every waking minute with his dad. His father’s getting sicker, weaker, but he keeps on pushing. The doctors are surprised, because the months tick by, and he’s still walking, still smiling, even if the edges of his lips are lined with pain.

 

Prompto graduates college, somehow. His final semester grades are trash, Bs and Cs, but he pulls it off.

 

His dad is dressed in a suit. He needs a cane to walk, at this point, and Cindy’s at his other side. She’s become a part of the family by now, helping out with Cor when Prompto’s at work. He’s grateful for the friendship, glad that his own hangups and issues didn’t chase her away altogether. But goddamnit, Prompto’s dad is there, as he adjusts his stupid gown and cap. And he swears, the applause from his dad is thunderous when he walks across the stage and takes the diploma. It’s not much, just a bachelor’s, nothing fancy like the doctorate that he’d seen hanging on Noctis’s wall before he left, but it’s enough. _Congratulations,_ he hears Noct’s voice saying in the back of his mind, _you’re an adult now._

 

And he feels like one, too, but at such a harsh cost, it’s not worth it.

 

There’s a little reception, after the ceremony. They’ve found a table off to the side, where his dad can relax. Prompto knows his father is exhausted, but he’s sticking it out. The table seats six, and it’s him, his dad, Cindy, and her grandfather. They’re picking at the finger food, the two older men lamenting about how proud they are of the new grads. Cindy’s grandfather, in particular, is making a loud, teasing point of the fact that she changed majors three times and took a few years extra to get there, but she takes it in stride, pointing out that she _did_ get there.

 

“Mind if I sit down?”

 

The world shatters, again, when a familiar voice speaks. Prompto’s eyes widen, and he looks up, and it’s fucking Noctis Caelum, standing there, a little awkwardly.

 

“Uh. Yeah. Hi. Noctis,” Prompto sputters. Cindy recognizes the name and gives him a _look._ His dad is the one that leans across the table, extending a hand.

 

“Noctis, huh. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. I’m Cor. Prompto’s dad.”

 

Noctis shakes his hand, and Prompto is somehow _very_ pleased at the colour his face is turning, all these years later. “Don’t suppose you still want to kick my ass, huh?”

 

“Sure do. Better watch yourself, kid,” Cor teases, with that same laugh. It makes Prompto smile though, somehow, the whole scene is _perfect,_ even though he has no idea why Noctis is here, or how he even _feels_ about it all. He’s glad for it, anyway.

 

Noctis pulls up a chair and sits down. Prompto watches him, from the corner of his eye. He’s got the beard again, and Prompto’s glad. It suits him. He’s wearing a dressy jacket and slacks, but a t-shirt underneath, a typical Noct look. His hair’s been freshly trimmed, and it’s not as long as it used to be, but still enough that Prompto’s fingers itch to stroke through it.

 

“I was invited to the ceremony,” Noctis says, when Prompto’s dad, bless his heart, begins to grill him. “Since I used to study here. And I’ve been working on some research for the faculty here, thought I’d stop in…”

 

“So you taught here?” Cor says, sharply. Prompto takes a deep breath. Oh boy.

 

“I taught your son in his first year,” Noctis admits, with a laugh, “fuck, you’re really going to kill me now, aren’t you?”

 

“Strongly debating it,” Cor says. He gives Prompto a _look_. Prompto sighs.

 

“You’re the cute one,” Cindy says, suddenly, “I took a couple of your classes. Picked you cuz all the reviews said yer nice to look at. Didn’t lie.”

 

Noctis groans, and flushes, and scratches at the back of his head. “That’s my legacy at this school, huh?”

 

Later, Cor asks Cindy and her grandfather to drive him home, citing that he’s exhausted. He gives Prompto a long, lingering look, and pulls him into a hug. “Don’t stay out all night with that man, Prom,” he says, quietly. “We need to talk about this.”

 

Prompto flushes. “Love you, dad,” he says, and his heart breaks for a million reasons as Cindy helps his dad out of the reception area. He turns around, and Noctis is waiting. The reception has died down. It’s turned into an official sort of faculty wind-down party, by now, and it’s mostly just professors and college employees left, drinking and gossiping about another year over with, another new wave of fresh adults sent out into the world. There’s music playing, and fuck, Noctis holds a hand out to him. He shouldn’t take it. This is all sorts of wrong.

 

Prompto takes Noct’s hand, and he lets him draw him in close. An arm curls around his waist. Prompto’s head settles on Noctis’s shoulder, and it feels like he’s still twenty again. He’s turning twenty four later this year, but it doesn’t feel like he is. He feels both older and younger, stretched too thin, still unsure of himself, even as he carries himself tall and proud.

 

“Your dad…” Noctis says, slowly. They aren’t really dancing, so much as working in small circles in the corner of the room, idly swaying in time with the music.

 

“He’s sick,” Prompto says, quietly. “That obvious, huh?”

 

“My dad was sick too, remember,” Noct’s voice is low. His breath is warm against Prompto’s cheek. “I remember what it’s like. You making out okay?”

 

“I guess,” Prompto frowns. His arms are gripping tighter around Noctis, looped around his neck, and he leans in close. His suit is soft against his cheek. It feels nice, so nice. “… I miss you, Noctis. I’ve been kinda doing this alone. I know what we said, and I know it’s for the best, but… I’m too young to do this alone.”

 

“You can call me,” Noctis says, instantly. He tips his head down, and Prompto lifts his eyes. They share a moment, a smile. It’d be too easy to lean in, to catch Noct’s lips with his own, and Prompto is so goddamn tempted, but there’s _too much,_ and it’s too many emotions to sort through, after all this time.

 

“Will you come? When the… time comes,” Prompto’s eyes are bright, and he feels stupid. He should be happy today. He’s just graduated, but the bitter reality is that his dad’s going to die, and he doesn’t want to face that day alone. It’s not Noctis’s place to be there, and it’s not Prompto’s place to ask, but he’s saying it anyway, goddamnit.

 

“Yeah,” Noctis says, after a moment’s hesitation. “You tell me when, and I’ll come, Prom, I swear. I owe it to you.”

 

\---

 

Prompto goes home afterwards. Noctis looks like he wants to kiss him. Fuck, Prompto wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t. He can’t. If he does, he’ll end up back in Noctis’s hotel room, and they’ll be doing this all over again. Right now, this isn’t something that Prompto can handle. So he turns and he goes home. His dad’s waiting him for him, and he’s coughing something fierce and bitter, hacking at his lungs as Prompto steps inside.

 

“You shouldn’t have waited up, dad,” Prompto frowns, rushing to his father’s side, “fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have abandoned you.”

 

His father laughs, and gently pushes Prompto away, gesturing at him to sit in an empty chair. “It’s your graduation. Prom. You only get one of those. I wanted you to enjoy it.”

 

Prompto sits, even though he feels guilty as hell, even though his emotions are all over the place. “I just wanted you there. I’m… really glad, dad. That you got to see me.”

 

“I’m proud of you,” his father says. His voice catches, and Prompto has to look away, because if one of them starts to cry, now, it’s over. There’s been a heaviness to the whole event, the realization that Prompto’s pretty sure his father’s been stubbornly holding on just to see this. The idea that soon, he’ll be able to rest. The cancer’s spread pretty far by now, and it’s got to hurt. It’s got to be so hard. It’s just not fair.

 

“I did it for you, dad,” Prompto’s voice is quiet. “Fuck, I didn’t want to sometimes, but… I’m glad I did. I’m glad Noctis told me to stay. If I hadn’t…”

 

“Noctis,” Cor’s voice is surprisingly steady, gentle. Prompto can’t hold back – he lifts his head, and his breath catches when he looks at his dad. He’s smiling, somehow, a knowing smile, like he’s figured out the secrets of the universe. And, well, his dad’s a dying man, so maybe he has.

 

“So that’s Noctis. Glad I got to meet him. I guess I’ll let him live, after all,” his father says. “But only because after all these fuckin’ years, Prom, you’re still in love with him.”

 

“I’m not,” Prompto says, instantly, harshly, his voice tight and rough around the edges and full of sudden emotion. “Dad. I’m not in love with him.”

 

“Yeah you are,” his father says, with a laugh, “it’s obvious. I always thought so, but… seeing you with him, the look you gave him.” He smiles, and he reaches for Prompto’s hand. His grip is somehow still firm, reassuring, even though he’s gotten more frail, the sickness eating away at him. “You tell that idiot that if he hurts you again, I’m gonna haunt his ass for the rest of his life, then drag him down into hell right alongside me.”

 

“Dad,” Prompto tries to say, but his voice is shaking. “Fuck, dad. I don’t want to do this. I don’t… you’re supposed to be here.”

 

His father’s the one who’s sick, but it’s Prompto who needs the reassurance, because the tears start coming. He breaks down, bit by bit, until he’s a sobbing mess, his stupid graduation cap clutched in one hand still, and he cries until he’s empty. Even then, there’s nothing less but the harsh emptiness, the realization that he’s grown up, that he’s about to outlive his father, that he’s spent four years in love with a man who’s pushed him away, told him he’s not ready. And there’s the bitter knowledge that if he’d followed Noctis, if he’d gone anyway, his dad would’ve died, alone, without him, without the knowledge that he’d done a good job.

 

\---

 

It’s a hot August day when Prompto’s dad dies. He doesn’t know how to feel, honestly. He’s empty inside, and he wants to break down and sob and scream, but it doesn’t come. He’d spent a good deal of those last weeks crying, and he thinks, maybe, the tears are all gone. That he’s all worn out. It’s what his dad would’ve wanted, at least. He’s at home, he’d refused the hospital til the very end. He falls asleep, and he just doesn’t wake up. The nurse they’ve got on duty with him calls the paramedics, and Prompto stays with him until they take him away. He’s already declared before they load him up onto the stretcher.

 

He leans back against the wall. He texts Cindy, and she’ll be right over, she says immediately. She’d said her goodbyes, her and her grandfather, earlier that day, when it’d been clear the end was coming.

 

Prompto hesitates. He’s got Noctis’s number in his phone again, after all this time. And he really shouldn’t. But he dials the number anyway, and the phone rings, as he holds it up to his ear.

 

Noctis answers on the third ring. “Prompto?” he says, quietly.

  
The tears come. Fuck, they come, just when he’d thought that he was all used up. Prompto tries to talk, but he sobs instead, ugly and harsh, his shoulders shaking and chest burning, and he tries to talk, but it comes out all a mess.

 

“N-Noctis,” he manages, after several minutes of simply sobbing, the other line of the phone quiet, but crackling, the sound of Noctis breathing on the other end, “fuck, Noct, I’m _sorry,_ please, he’s gone, and I—I dunno what I’m doing…”

 

“Do you want me to book a flight?” Noctis says, after a long moment’s pause, one where Prompto gasps and chokes on his tears and his sobs and makes an utter mess of himself. “I don’t start classes for a month. I can come there, if you want me to.”

 

“Please,” Prompto says, desperately. “I don’t want to be alone.”

 

Noctis flies in the following morning, and Prompto’s waiting for him at the airport. He doesn’t say anything, just rushes into the other man’s arms, and he cries again as Noctis pulls him tight.

 

\---

 

If anyone asks Prompto how he gets through the next few weeks, he’ll simply answer, Noctis. Always Noctis. Noct’s a constant at his side. Apart from a gentle hand on his shoulder, a brush of their fingers, a comforting embrace when the tears steal him again, though, there’s nothing. There’s maybe a look that’s meaningful. There aren’t any kisses, or any confessions of love. There’s just his _presence,_ and it’s exactly what Prompto needs.

  
They bury his dad. It’s a good funeral. His father had a lot of friends, and Prompto’s heart is warmed, by the thought of it. It’s comforting, at least. Noctis stays by his side, and he doesn’t have to. Fuck, Noctis doesn’t have to. He’s living out of a hotel – even though Prompto says he can stay with him and Bean, alone in his dad’s place – and he’s always working, when he’s not at Prompto’s side. Prompto feels guilty as fuck.

 

But he stays. He helps Prompto clean out his dad’s place, and get it listed for sale. He takes Bean for walks, during real estate showings. And Noctis is terrible at cooking – he was, years ago, and he still is – but he gets takeout, when Prompto’s too tired to get out of bed and make something.

 

Prompto’s job gives him as much time off as he needs, and he’s grateful.

 

The beginning of September, they have a talk.

 

Prompto’s dad’s place is sold. They’re packing it up. Most of it is getting sold or donated. A few sentimental stuff, Prompto’s going to keep. He has to find a new place to live, because he gave up his flat a while back. They’re got a couple of beers cracked open between them.

 

“I gotta go back next week,” Noctis says, slowly. “I’ve… already spent a lot of time here.”

 

“I know,” Prompto replies, simply. Because he does know. This time, it’s not a surprise. “Thanks Noctis. For coming. I… really needed you here. I needed someone who’s been here. To keep me going.”

 

Noctis nods, and takes a swig of his beer. “What are you gonna do?” he asks, slowly. Prompto frowns, because he doesn’t really know.

 

“I did this for my dad,’ He says slowly, quietly. “I… have an okay job. I can get a place. I can go back to work. But… it’s not what I want, I don’t think. I need something new. I need to get away from this, from all the memories.”

 

Noctis looks down. His fingers are drumming along the neck of his beer bottle. In the morning, the last of the furniture will be moved out of the place. Bean is curled up in his dog bed in the corner.

 

“Come with me,” Noctis says, suddenly, and the world breaks down around Prompto. Again. For what seems like the hundredth time, when Noctis is in the picture.

 

“Excuse me?” Prompto blinks. He’s fiddling with the earring, the same one he’s been wearing all these years. “Sorry, Noct, it must be the grief, but I swear you just invited me to go back with you.”

 

Silence. Then. “I did,” Noctis admits, a little more quietly, some hesitance. “It’s been three years, Prompto. Three years of us living our lives apart, and… you called _me_ of all people. You wanted me back, and it was the only thing I could think to do. _You’re_ the only thing I could think of, all those years.”

 

Prompto shifts. It’s all wrong. The timing is all bad, and he should be full of grief. He should be upset that Noctis is here, taking advantage like this, when his mind is in a million pieces, when he’s broken and shattered, his dad dead, his future so uncertain. But it feels so _right._ It’s not like all those years back, when he’d wanted to beg Noctis to stay, when he _had_ begged for him to bring him along.

 

“What if I hate it?” Prompto says, suddenly. He’s moving across the couch though, until their shoulders touch. He’s leaning forward, putting his beer bottle down on the table. “What if I resent you?”

 

“Then at least we tried,” Noctis says, slowly. “You said it yourself. You need to get away. You’re… fuck, Prompto, you’ve _grown up._ ”

 

Prompto, for a moment, wants to laugh in Noct’s face. He wants to shove him away, to show him what it’s been like, all these years. But fuck. His dad had said it, hadn’t he? He’s in love with Noctis Caelum. The idiot professor who stole his heart with his lazy lectures, the man who keeps falling back into his life. And yeah, they’re in different places. Maybe they always will be. But they’re similar, too, in so many ways. They like the same things. They bring light to each others’ lives. And now, just maybe, they share that deep-running grief, that tinge of sadness that permeates, that follows them everywhere.

 

“I’m not going anywhere without Bean,” Prompto says, slowly.

 

“My lease allows dogs,” Noctis replies, instantly.

 

Prompto falls silent for a moment. He thinks it over. And then he’s leaning in, closing the distance between them. Their lips brush, for the first time in _so_ fucking long, and it’s good. It’s so good, it’s like coming home. It’s like finally fucking finding where he belongs, after all this time.

 

\---

 

Winter on the opposite coast is milder. It’s a fairly warm day, despite being in the deepest months of winter, and Prompto’s only wearing a light sweater. His new job is going well. He likes it. They let him take photos, and he doesn’t have to manage anyone, and the pay is decent.

 

He’s getting home late, but it’s okay. Noctis walked Bean. He picked up dinner. It’s waiting for him, when he gets home. The dog and Noct’s cat are curled up, sleeping together on one end of the couch. Noctis is at the other end, typing away on his laptop.

 

“Hey,” Prompto says, with a tired smile.

 

“Hey,” Noctis replies. They don’t need to say anything more than that. It’s okay. It’s the six month anniversary of his dad’s death, but he’s doing okay. Better than he thought.

 

Later, Prompto’s face is pressed into the mattress. He’s on his knees, and Noct’s behind him, hands running long and affectionate strokes down his spine, chasing the touch with his lips. Hands settle firm on his hips, and when Noctis presses into him, Prompto muffles his cries into the mattress.

 

They’ve gotten so good at this. They know how to touch each other. Noctis knows how to undo him with a simple rock of his hips, angled perfectly against the spot that has Prompto seeing stars. He gasps, a hand reaching back, finding Noct’s thigh, gripping rough and needy. The strokes spread him open, deep and wide and perfect, and they’re so close, they might as well be one. Fuck, in the throes of sex, it feels like they really _are_ one, brought together by destiny, held entwined after years apart by sheer determination.

 

Noctis rides him long and hard, until Prompto’s whole body is slick with sweat, until he’s gasping and begging for release. He comes untouched, with a rough thrust directly against his prostate, his cock twitching and spurting into the sheets and over his slick belly. Noct’s hands hold him upright, keep him there, fucking into him until he comes, too, spilling into Prompto’s trembling, oversensitive body.

 

They don’t bother to clean up. Prompto rolls onto his side, Noctis settling in behind him, pressing sticky wet kisses into the damp hair curled at the back of his neck. His stubble scratches over Prompto’s skin, and it makes him sigh. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t have to, because three years apart have somehow brought them so much closer together than Prompto could’ve ever expected.

 

“Y’know,” Prompto says lazily, slowly, as they start to drift off, fingers twined together against Prompto’s hip, over the piercing he still has, “I only signed up for your class cuz the internet said you’re hot.”

 

Noctis laughs. “I think that’s why everyone signed up for my class. I suck at teaching.”

 

“Taught me a thing or two,” Prompto replies, sleepily. “Thanks, Noct.”

 

“You taught me some things, too,” Noct’s voice is quiet, thoughtful, as he drifts off into sleep, “thanks, Prompto. For waiting.”

**Author's Note:**

> guess whose fault this is?! yeah it's always numi's fault. i made prompto a teacher in a tumblr thing and then it led to talks about older!noct/younger!prom student/teacher relationships, and then she gave me free reign and... this happened.
> 
> i wrote this in a span of 12 hours w/ the help of a couple of venti lattes, and now i seriously need to ice my wrist cuz my carpal tunnel is so bad. my fingers are numb. this isn't good.
> 
> anyway, i stared at this for so long i have no concept of it it's good or not? but hey, i wrote it, so i figured i'd share it. thanks if you read, pls leave me feedback and let me know this wasn't a total waste of a day? 
> 
> on twitter @thatdest, tumblr @destatree. come scream at me. thank you to numi for letting me play with her pierced prompto with his sunflower earring~


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